


let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised

by lady_romanov



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink, Shameless Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Tender Sex, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22647667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_romanov/pseuds/lady_romanov
Summary: Geralt has a thing about biting.Jaskier likes it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 1093





	let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh. I've never actually written smut before? I have literally no idea if this is any good, but the idea for this fic wouldn't leave my head, so here we are. Please accept this shameless smut in place of an actual sequel to my previous Geralt/Jaskier fic. I have no idea where this takes place in the timeline. 
> 
> Title from Hozier's Dinner and Diatribes, which I listened to on a loop while writing this.

“Fuck,” he gasps, shaking with need, “Fuck, Geralt, _please.”_

Geralt just hums against his throat, grazing his teeth against the tender skin behind Jaskier’s ear before taking his ear lobe between his lips and sucking, making Jaskier whine and writhe beneath him.

“ _Geralt,”_ he pleads again.

“I’ve got you, little bard,” Geralt rumbles in his ear, and Jaskier shudders, arching as much as he can beneath the Witcher’s weight as Geralt rolls his hips slow and frustratingly gentle, his cock thick and hot and perfect inside of Jaskier but not enough, not nearly _enough._

They’ve been at this for _hours_ ; Geralt had barely stopped long enough to pay for a room before dragging Jaskier upstairs – not that Jaskier was complaining – and only waiting long enough to shut the door before practically ripping the bard’s clothes off and pushing him onto the bed. They rarely have the time to simply enjoy themselves beyond a quick hand job beneath their bedrolls in the woods late at night, but tonight they have the luxury of time and a proper bed. Geralt had spent what felt like a small eternity opening him up, first with his fingers and a vial of oil, and then with his mouth, until Jaskier was nearly in tears begging to be fucked. Even then Geralt had ignored his pleas, replacing his tongue with his fingers once more, nosing at Jaskier’s aching cock and swallowing him down until Jaskier was crying out and shaking and pulling the Witcher’s hair as he spilled down his throat.

He hadn’t even come down from his orgasm when Geralt was nudging his thighs apart and sliding into him, and Jaskier had thought _finally,_ except Geralt still won’t fuck him, not properly, not like he’s been begging for it. His skin is on fire with desire, hard again as rolls his hips to rub his leaking cock against the solid wall of heat that is Geralt, but it’s still not enough, and Geralt rocks his hips for the thousandth fucking time, gentle and loving and Jaskier feels like he’s going to explode right out of his skin.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, “Geralt, Geralt _please.”_ His voice sounds utterly wrecked even to his own ears, but Geralt only chuckles, nipping at his jawline and sucking bruising kisses and fucking him so gently that Jaskier thinks he’ll die before he comes again.

“You fucking bastard,” he bites out, rolling his hips to meet Geralt’s thrusts, gasping as Geralt’s cock hits him just right to make lightning shoot up his spine. “You absolute _fuck._ ”

Geralt laughs again, pulling his mouth away from the raw, sweat-slick skin of Jaskier’s throat to kiss him, languid and warm, his hands tightening against Jaskier’s hips to hold him still, and Jaskier keens, low and desperate, at the loss of friction against his aching cock as Geralt shifts lower between his legs.

“Do you know,” Geralt says, and Jaskier is fairly sure that he’s purposefully lowering his voice even further because the bastard just _knows_ what it does to him, “do you know how good you smell right here?” he says, leaning down to lick a searing hot line up Jaskier’s throat, tender from Geralt’s love bites, biting down only enough to draw out a moan from deep inside Jaskier’s chest.

He finally starts to speed up his pace, sliding in and out smooth and quick but still no harder, and it feels so good that Jaskier closes his eyes and tilts his head back even further, letting Geralt’s hungry mouth roam further.

“Do you know how good you taste?” Geralt continues, voice heady and sex-rough. “Do you even know?”

“Tell me,” Jaskier gasps, thighs shaking as tension builds low in his belly.

And Geralt growls and says, “You taste like _mine,_ ” before biting down at the juncture between his throat and shoulder and rolling his hips hard and fast and sudden and Jaskier throws his head back and comes, spilling hot and sweet between their sweaty bodies as Geralt licks at the bite on his throat and spills inside of him, making Jaskier moan as Geralt’s cock pulses and fills him up.

Geralt stays there for a while, those fucking teeth still nipping his neck, and Jaskier already dreads the thought of having to cover the bruises while he performs tomorrow.

(Oh, who is he kidding – he loves wearing proof of Geralt’s love and desire on his body, would brandish them for all to see if it didn’t earn them ridicule. Sometimes at night he reaches up to touch the mouth-shaped bruises that ring his throat and closes his eyes, reveling in the tenderness, in the ache, in the love.)

Eventually the weight is too much and he starts to wriggle until Geralt gets the hint, rolling off of him and sliding away, but only barely, pulling Jaskier with him until the bard is pressed against his side. He’s perfectly fine staying there for the foreseeable future, the warmth of Geralt’s body pressed against his keeping away the cold of the night.

“You really are a bastard,” Jaskier grumbles, throwing his arm around Geralt’s chest as the Witcher runs his hot hand up his back before unerringly finding the bite Geralt left on him, and Jaskier has to hold back a moan when those fingers press down, so gentle, on the new mark.

“Hmm,” says Geralt. “You like it, though.”

Jaskier just presses his face into Geralt’s shoulder to hide his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Jaskier is teased and hooted at all day while playing for the inn's patrons, and Geralt smirks in the corner.


End file.
